


Harry Potter and Something to do with Ravens

by im2tired4urshit



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (Future) BAMF Harry, (later) - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Black Hermione Granger, Dragons, Goblins, Harry doesn't really like other boys all that much rn, I'll add more shit eventually, Independent Harry, Ravenclaw Harry, Smart Harry, Snakes, Swearing, The Bi Who Lived, Thestrals, aka Pen was born in 99 so they have no idea what 91 was like, and its great, and use them quite frequently, because yes eleven year olds know what swears are, but that will change - Freeform, exept Hermione, not as shitty as he was in canon!Snape, the girls are gonna make harry learn to do (stereotypically) girly shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-04-22
Packaged: 2018-05-20 17:31:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6018601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/im2tired4urshit/pseuds/im2tired4urshit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Harry had been smarter? What if he had realized that the Dursleys were wrong, that he deserved more?</p><p>A Ravenclaw!Harry fic featuring snark, snakes, Snape, and much more!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The One with the Exposition

**Author's Note:**

> So this is taking place in vague timeline that I'm not going to specify for Reasons™ (memes. The reason is memes. And slang. Lots and lots of slang.) so just assume it's sometime passed 2010.

Nearly ten years had passed since the Dursleys had woken up to find their nephew on the front steps, but Privet Drive had hardly changed at all. The sun rose on the same tidy front gardens and lit up the brass number four on the Dursley's’ front door; it crept into their living room, which was almost exactly the same as it had been on the night when Mr. Dursley had seen that fateful news report about owls. Only the photographs on the mantelpiece really showed much time had passed. Ten years ago, there had been lots of pictures of what looked like a large blond boy riding his first bicycle, on a carousel at the fair, playing a computer game with his father, being hugged and kissed by his mother. The room held no sign at all that another boy lived in the house, too.

 

Yet Harry Potter was still there, waiting silently at the moment, but not for long. His Aunt Petunia was awake and it was her shrill voice that made the first noise of the day.

 

“Up! Get up! Now!”

 

Harry scurried quickly out of his cupboard and into the kitchen.

 

“I want you to look after the bacon. And don’t you dare let it burn, I want everything to be perfect on Dudley’s birthday.”

 

His Aunt turned to fuss over Dudley’s presents while Harry minded the bacon. The table was almost hidden under all Dudley’s presents. It looked as though Dudley had gotten the new computer he wanted, not to mention the second television and the racing bike. Exactly what Dudley wanted with a racing bike was a mystery to Harry, as Dudley was very fat and very much hated exercise - unless, of course, it involved punching somebody. Dudley’s favorite punching bag was Harry, but he often couldn’t catch him. Maybe if Harry had nicer clothes people would be able to tell.

 

For most of his life Harry had been small and skinny, which he originally thought was something to do with his living in a cupboard, and which was probably not helped by the size of Dudley’s hand-me-down’s - which still made him look much smaller than he was. That was until third grade when his class had learned about “having a healthy diet” and “proper portion sizes”. Which is when Harry learned that the Dursley’s were effectively starving him.

 

This knowledge, along with the knowledge that undernourishment could cause him to be much smaller as an adult than he would have been otherwise, led Harry to seek other ways of procuring food.

 

Harry was working at a small family owned bookstore in town in his free time. Under the table and  for less than minimum wage though the job may have been, it was the best job he’d ever had. Working at a bookstore had lots of perks - no Dudley or his gang, the teenagers that hung around were nice, and of course the books.

 

Harry was a voracious reader, he’d read all kinds of books. _The Great Gatsby, The Scarlet Letter, Anna Karenina,  The Catcher in the Rye, The Iliad, The Odyssey, To Kill a Mockingbird, Frankenstein, Dracula, Alice in Wonderland, Matilda, Pet Semetary, Cujo, Ender's Game, The Mist of Avalon, _Jurassic Park_ \- _ Not just the classics though! He also read popular stuff like; _The Host, The Strand, The Mortal Imstraments, The Hunger games,_  and  __ _Twilight_ _._ It seemed like he read a thousand books a week with how much he read.

 

Part of his pay at the bookshop was being able to take any book he wanted, so long as he only took one copy and told his boss Mr. Moony.

 

Mr. Moony was a weird man. He had dusty blond hair, old worn clothes, and scars all over his body - most noticeably his face. He wasn’t the owner of the bookshop - that was Mr. and Mrs. Flamel - but he was the one that hired Harry. He also seemed like the type of guy Harry shouldn’t be alone with for too long, he always seemed to be watching Harry when he wasn’t helping customers, and he would sometimes sit too close to him on the couch in the breakroom. Not close enough for him to actually _touch_ Harry, but close enough that you could tell he wanted to.

 

He was nice enough, though, always told funny stories about him and his mates in school - though they did seem like bullies, his friends, always picking on some poor bloke called Snape. He told Harry all kinds of stories - he probably could have been a writer if he’d wanted - that he’d make up on the fly, they would sometimes make a game of it. Harry would give him a one word prompt and Mr. Moony would make up a story based on it.

 

One story that Harry had really loved was a tragic story about a boy who was bitten by a werewolf as a baby. He lived in a “Wizard World” - where Mr. Moony liked all his stories to be - where people were all afraid of werewolves. The man that bit the little boy was named Fenrir - like Loki’s son from Norse mythology - and he was an evil man who fought with the Bad Guys in the Great War.  The boy, named Lupin - another wolf name, how funny - grew up hiding his lycanthropy from everyone but his parents, but when he was eleven he went to a magic school because he was a wizard - a bit too much in Harry’s opinion, one should make a character _either_ a werewolf _or_ a wizard. Other wise it isn’t fair to the other characters in your story. While at the magic school he met three boys that found out his secret and loved him like a brother regardless and they all lived happily ever after.

 

Uncle Vernon entered the kitchen, pulling Harry from his thoughts with a shout of, “Comb your hair!”, before sitting down.  

 

About once a week Vernon looked over the edge of his newspaper and shouted that Harry needed a haircut. Harry must of had more haircuts than any of the other boys in his class put together, but it made no difference, his hair simply grew that way - all over the place. Just like he wanted it to.

 

Harry was frying eggs by the time Dudley arrived in the kitchen with his mother. Dudley looked a lot like Uncle Vernon. He had a large pink face, not much neck, small, watery blue eyes, and thick blond hair that lay smoothly on his thick, fat head. Aunt Petunia often said that Dudley looked like a baby angel - Harry often said that Dudley looked like a pig in a wig.

 

Harry put the plates of eggs and bacon on the table, which was difficult as there wasn’t much room. Dudley, meanwhile, was counting his presents. His face fell.

 

“Thirty six.” he said,looking up at his mother and father. “That’s two less than last year.”

 

“Darling, you haven’t counted Aunt Marge’s present, see, it’s here under this big present from Mummy and Daddy.  
“

“All right, thirty seven then,” said Dudley, going red in the face. Harry, who could see a huge Dudley tantrum coming on, began wolfing down his bacon as fast as possible in case Dudley turned the table over.

 

Aunt Petunia obviously scented danger, too, because she said quickly, “And we’ll buy you another _two_ presents while we’re out today. How’s that popkin? _Two_ more presents. Is that alright?”

 

Dudley thought for a moment. It looked like hard work. Finally he said, “So I’ll have thirty... Thirty...”

 

“Thirty nine, sweetums.” said Aunt Petunia.

 

“Oh. Alright then.”

 

Uncle Vernon chuckled.

 

“Little tyke wants his money’s worth, just like his father. “Atta boy, Dudley!” He ruffled Dudley’s hair.

 

Just then the phone rang, Aunt Petunia went to answer it while Vernon and HArry watched Dudley unwrap his presents. Just as Dudley was unwrapping his twenty-first present Petunia came back into the room looking both angry and worried.

 

“Bad news, Vernon. Mrs. Figg broke her leg and won’t be able to take him.” she jerked her head towards Harry.

 

Dudley’s mouth fell open, but before anyone else could speak Harry cut in, heart in his throat, “I could go to that second hand bookstore while you’re at the zoo! The owner doesn’t mind, I promise!” if Harry could spend all day with the Flamel’s and Mr. Moony instead of crazy old Mrs. Figg and her endless amounts of cats his life would be perfect.

 

“What? So we can come home to a message from the police saying that you were arrested for shoplifting? No...” Uncle Vernon put his hand on his chin, thinking.

 

Harry’s life would never be perfect would it?

 

“I suppose we could take him to the zoo,” Aunt Petunia said,”... and leave him in the car...”

 

“The car’s new, he’s not sitting in it alone...”

 

Dudley began to cry loudly. In fact, he wasn’t really crying - it had been years since he actually cried - but he knew he could get just about anything if he screwed his face up and wailed.

 

“Dinky Duddydums, don’t cry! Mummy won’t let him spoil your special day!” she cried, flinging her arms around him.

 

Just then the door rang - “Oh God they’re here!” said Petunia frantically - and a moment later Piers Polkiss, walked in with his mother. Piers was a scrawny boy with a face like a rat. He was usually the one that held people’s arms while Dudley hit them. Dudley stopped pretending to cry at once.

Half an hour later Harry couldn’t believe his luck - or really, his misfortune. He was sitting in the back of the Dursley's car with Piers and Dudley, on the way to the zoo for the first time in his life. His Aunt and Uncle hadn’t been able to think of anything to do with him.

 

So Harry got to follow them around, he had many unique experiences - he even got his first ever taste of ice cream.

 

After lunch they went to the reptile house. It was cool and dark in there, with lit windows all along the walls. Behind the glass, all sorts of lizards and snakes were crawling and slithering over bits of wood and stone. Dudley and Piers wanted to see huge, venomous cobras and thick, man crushing pythons. Dudley quickly found the largest snake in the place. It could have wrapped its body twice around Uncle Vernon’s car and crushed it into a trash can - but at the moment it didn’t look in the mood. Infact, it was fast asleep.

 

Dudley stood with his nose pressed against the glass, staring the glistening brown coils.

 

Harry, however, had found the enclosure farthest from any of the members in his travelling party and amused himself with looking inside for its inhabitant. Inside was what was most likely the smallest snake in the whole place. Coiled around the branches of a small tree was any even smaller snake that stretched itself out like it was another one of the tree’s branches. If not for the lack of wind in the enclosure - it seemed to be swaying in a non-existent wind -  Harry might not have even seen the snake.

 

The snake itself was skinny, it had brown and grey markings, like a stick. It’s throat had small black markings, like there was another layer of black scales hidden beneath the surface.

 

Harry peered at the plaque besides the enclosure.

 

_Twig Snake, Africa_

 

“Africa’s a continent isn’t it? What part are you from then...” Harry mused aloud.

 

“ _I wouldn’t know. You humans have strange ways of naming things.”_

 

That was the snake. Harry saw it, it talked back. What-

 

“ _What’s wrong - you look like the food bringers after the feed the cobras.”_


	2. The One Where Harry gets Snarky with a Snake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in case no one noticed i am using some of the original in here but ill cut that shit right the fuck out the second harry gets his letter 
> 
> i mean not really snapes gonna give the same speach and so's dumbles and sorty and shit but u get me right?
> 
> anyway
> 
> I obviously dont own any of jk's shit so w/e

“I - I didn’t realize you spoke English...” Harry was absolutely in shock. The world was tilting on its axis - no it was tilting on an entirely _new_ axis the likes of which it hadn’t turned on since the discovery of fire.

 

Harry glanced over his shoulder. Surely the whole zoo must have felt the world shifting like that - but they hadn’t. Dudley and Piers had moved on to terrorise some other poor animal, there were teenagers making sweet fully clothed love to each other on a bench, and his aunt and uncle were looking at the map by the entrance trying to figure out where they would go next.

 

“ _I don’t speak English, you speak Parsel.”_

 

The snake was mocking him.

 

“ _I suppose that makes about as much sense as you speaking English.”_

 

Harry was mocking the snake. Though, in all honesty, Harry could now plainly hear the strange hiss in his own voice.

 

“ _Are you this sarcastic with your snake, or am I special?”_ It snarked.

 

 _“What the hell do you mean my snake?”_ Why on earth would Harry have his own snake?

 

“ _Every Speaker has a snake.”_ The snake was now giving him a look like he was the second coming of Dudley.

 

“ _Well I don’t have one, so I guess you’re wrong about that.”_

 

 _“I’m never wrong, not unless the universe is bending over backwards to spite me. If you have no snake that just means you have not found a snake worthy of being yours.”_ Who would have thought that snakes would be such giant narcissists?

 

“ _How would I even-”_

 

 _“I shall be your snake.”_ The snake interrupted.

 

 _“Of course. ‘Hello yes Mr. Zookeeper, sir. Do you think you might get this snake out of its cage for me? Oh, you can’t? Well, I have it on good authority that I happen to be the owner- on whose authority you ask? Why, the snake’s of course!’ I don’t think that will go over all that well.”_ Harry snarked.

 

 _“You’ll just have to get me out.”_ The snake said, like it was the most obvious thing in the universe.

 

_“And how would I do that?”_

 

_“Magic.”_

 

_“Wow, and here I thought your sarcasm could go no further.”_

 

 _“I’m entirely serious. You have magic I can smell it.”_ Man, if that snake didn’t have a dead ass stare.

 

_“If I have magic then my cousin is the tooth fairy.”_

 

_“How exactly, pray tell, do you think you’re talking to a snake if not for magic?”_

 

That was a good point actually.

 

“ _Some form of psychosis I’d presume.”_ Harry mused.

 

“ _Too true, too true. Let us not discard that idea entirely, on the off chance that I’m wrong. Of course it’s a long shot, my being wrong, that is, as I’ve never been wrong before. Don’t really see the point in starting now either.”_ At this point the real question is where Harry can learn to look at someone like that. It’s really rather impressive.

 

“ _Fine then, since you’re the expert, why don’t you tell me how exactly you expect me to use magic to get you out of this cage.”_ Harry crossed his arms over his chest

 

“ _Magic.”_

 

 _“Right yeah, I got that. But how do I do it?”_ Harry asked, frustrated.

 

“ _Just like you have every other time you’ve done magic!”_ The snake was also frustrated.

 

“ _I’ve never_ **_done_ ** _magic before!”_ Harry nearly yelled.

 

He looked quickly to make sure he hadn’t caught anyone’s attention. The teenagers were still attempting to swallow each other’s tonsils, his cousin was harassing a different snake, and his aunt and uncle were looking down their noses at something in a glass case over by the door. Perfect.

 

“ _You obviously have, or else I wouldn’t have been able to smell your magic!_ ”

 

“ _I ha-”_ Oh, but he had, hadn’t he?

 

Harry looked back on his life, on all the freaky or unexplainable shit that had happened in his life. His hair growing back overnight, the sweater, the school roof, the dreams of the flying motorbike. It was all magic.

 

There was a pop from directly in front of him, and by the time he’d managed to look up and see the missing grass there was already a snake wrapped firmly around his upper arm, just above where his shirt might ride up if he were to have raised his hands.

 

Harry looked quickly behind himself again, to make sure no one had seen. His aunt seemed to be rather fed up with looking at such cold blooded things and could be seen attempting to make Dudley and Piers move on to other exhibits.

 

“ _See all you had to do was break me out.”_ The snake said smugly.

 

" _What's the tooth-to-currency exchange rate? I lose teeth quite frequently and would like to know how mu-"_

 

_"Alright I get it. You were right."_

 

_"I always am."_

 

_"What's your name? I can't just keep calling you 'the snake' in my head. Are you a boy or a girl?"_

 

_"I am a girl and I have no name. Snakes do not name their young, so you can name me if you would like."_

 

 _"Well shit. That's a lot more responsibility than I was expecting to have to deal with today..."_ Harry trailed off.

 

He looked at the snake for a moment, trying to see if she had any defining traits he could name her after. In the process, he was swept up in gazing at the rhythmic swaying of the snake. It reminded him of the willow tree in Mrs. Number Seven's backyard.

 

" _What about Willow?"_ Harry asked.

 

" _I suppose that will suffice. You could have chosen a better plant, though."_

 

“ _T_ _hat’s not at all true, but whatever. Stay hidden. If my relatives see you they might try and kill you or something.”_ Harry muttered crossly.

 

There was no reply, but Harry just took that as a sign that the snake - Willow - would stay hidden and moved to stand closer to his relatives.

 

* * *

 

Harry lay in his dark cupboard much later, wishing he had a watch. He didn’t know what time it was and he couldn’t be sure the Dursleys’ were asleep yet. Until they were, he couldn’t risk sneaking to the kitchen for some food, and then to the backyard to let Willow hunt for a bit.

 

He’d lived with the Dursleys almost ten years, ten miserable years, as long as he could remember, ever since he’d been a baby and his parents had died in that car crash. He couldn’t remember being in the car when his parents had died. Sometimes, when he strained his memory during long hours in his cupboard, he came up with a strange vision: a blinding flash of green light and a burning pain on his forehead. This, he supposed, was the crash, though he couldn’t imagine where all the green light came from. He couldn’t remember his parents at all. His aunt and uncle never spoke about them, and of course he was forbidden to ask questions. There were no photographs of them in the house.

 

When he had been younger, Harry had dreamed and dreamed of some unknown relation coming to take him away, but it had never happened; the Dursleys were his only family. Yet sometimes he thought (or maybe hoped) that strangers in the street seemed to know him. Very strange strangers they were, too. A tiny man in a violet top hat had bowed to him once while out shopping with Aunt Petunia and Dudley. After asking Harry furiously if he knew the man, Aunt Petunia had rushed them out of the shop without buying anything. A wild-looking old woman dressed all in green had waved merrily at him once on a bus. A bald man in a very long purple coat had actually shaken his hand in the street the other day and then walked away without a word. The weirdest thing about all these people was the way they seemed to vanish the second Harry tried to get a closer look.

 

At school, Harry had no one. Everybody knew that Dudley’s gang hated that odd Harry Potter in his baggy old clothes and broken glasses, and nobody liked to disagree with Dudley’s gang.

 


	3. The One With the Letters

After what seemed like no time at all the summer holidays had started and Dudley had already broken his new iPhone, crashed his remote-control aeroplane and, first time on his racing bike, knocked down old Mrs Figg as she crossed Privet Drive on her crutches. 

 

Harry was glad school was over, but there was no escaping Dudley’s gang, who visited the house every single day. Piers, Dennis, Malcolm and Gordon were all big and stupid, but as Dudley was the biggest and stupidest of the lot, he was the leader. The rest of them were all quite happy to join in Dudley’s favourite sport: Harry-hunting. 

 

This was why Harry spent as much time as possible out of the house, working for the Flamel’s and Mr. Moony and thinking about the end of the holidays, where he could see a tiny ray of hope. When September came he would be going off to secondary school and, for the first time in his life, he wouldn’t be with Dudley. Dudley had a place at Uncle Vernon’s old school, Smeltings. Piers Polkiss was going there, too. Harry, on the other hand, was going to Stonewall High, the local comprehensive. Dudley thought this was very funny. Harry thought that once he was away at another school he’d finally be able to do as good in his classes as he knew he could. Maybe even skip a grade or two.

 

“They stuff people’s heads down the toilet first day at Stonewall,” he told Harry. “Want to come upstairs and practise?”

 

“No thanks,” said Harry. “The poor toilet’s never had anything as horrible as your head down it – it might be sick.” Then he ran, before Dudley could work out what he’d said. 

 

One day in July, Aunt Petunia took Dudley to London to buy his Smeltings uniform, leaving Harry at Mrs Figg’s. Mrs Figg wasn’t as bad as usual. It turned out she’d broken her leg tripping over one of her cats and she didn’t seem quite as fond of them as before. She let Harry watch television and gave him a bit of chocolate cake that tasted as though she’d had it for several years. 

 

That evening, Dudley paraded around the living-room for the family in his brand-new uniform. Smeltings boys wore maroon tailcoats, orange knickerbockers and flat straw hats called boaters. They also carried knobbly sticks, used for hitting each other while the teachers weren’t looking. This was supposed to be good training for later life. 

 

As he looked at Dudley in his new knickerbockers, Uncle Vernon said gruffly that it was the proudest moment of his life. Aunt Petunia burst into tears and said she couldn’t believe it was her Ickle Dudleykins, he looked so handsome and grown-up. Harry didn’t trust himself to speak. He thought two of his ribs might already have cracked from trying not to laugh. 

 

There was a horrible smell in the kitchen next morning when Harry went in for breakfast. It seemed to be coming from a large metal tub in the sink. He went to have a look. The tub was full of what looked like dirty rags swimming in grey water. 

 

“What’s this?” he asked Aunt Petunia. Her lips tightened as they always did if he dared to ask a question.

 

“Your new school uniform,” she said. Harry looked in the bowl again. 

 

“Oh,” he said. “Thanks.”

 

He would be saving every penny from that day until September to buy himself a  _ real _ uniform. Not, fortunately, that he had to tell Petunia that.

 

Not a full moment after he had sat down Dudley and Uncle Vernon came in, both with wrinkled noses because of the smell from Harry’s “new uniform”. Uncle Vernon opened his newspaper as usual and Dudley banged his Smeltings stick, which he carried everywhere, on the table. 

 

They heard the click of the letter-box and flop of letters on the doormat. 

 

“Get the post, Dudley,” said Uncle Vernon from behind his paper. 

 

“Make Harry get it.”

 

“Get the post, Harry.”

 

“Make Dudley get it.” 

 

“Poke him with your Smeltings stick, Dudley.” 

 

Harry dodged the Smeltings stick and went to get the post. Three things lay on the doormat: a postcard from Uncle Vernon’s sister Marge, who was holidaying on the Isle of Wight, a brown envelope that looked like a bill and – a letter for Harry.

 

Harry thought of all the things that he had, things that the Dursley’s would never allow him to have, like Willow and his books. He then promptly stuck the letter into his over sized pocket and returned to the kitchen.

 

Harry handed Vernon the bill and the postcard, sat down, and continued eating his breakfast.

  
  


That night, while the Dursleys slept, Harry read his letter.

 

‘ _ HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY _

_ Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore _

_ (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards) _

 

_ Dear Mr Potter, _

 

_ We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. _

 

_ Term begins on 1 September.  We await your owl by no later than 31 July _

 

_ Yours sincerely,  _

 

_ Minerva McGonagall _

 

_ Deputy Headmistress _ ’

 

‘Hogwarts’ He thought, ‘now this can’t be real! Even if it is, what do they mean by “We await your owl”? Where the hell am I supposed to get an owl?’

 

“ _ Willow, have you ever heard of a place called Hogwarts?”  _ Harry questioned quietly.

 

_ “It’s the place stick wielders go.”  _

 

_ “Stick wielders? So it’s like an all boys school?”  _ Harry asked cheekily.

 

“ _ Don’t be dense. It’s for people like you.” _

 

_ “So... Boys?” _

 

_ “Just tell them you’ll go.”  _ She mumbled something under her breath then that sounded something like ‘ducking numb brass’.

 

“ _ Rude. Do you know where I can get an owl?” _

 

_ “There’s one waiting outside. It’s been there all day.” _

 

_ “Right then.” _

  
  


Harry waited a few minutes more before he snuck from his cupboard quietly, going into the kitchen to grab Petunia’s good stationary and her letter writing pen.

 

‘Dear Professor McGonagall, or whomever this may concern,

 

I would be delighted to attend your school, only I do not know of any stores that might sell the items on the supply list. Nor, do I know of any train station that uses a fractional numbering system for their platforms, especially not at Kings Cross.

 

If it would not be too much trouble, could an escort be provided to show me to the stores and platform?

 

If so, I would be honoured to attend Hogwarts. If not, I will have to take my education elsewhere.

 

Harry Potter’

 

Satisfied with his letter Harry crept into the backyard.

 

Perched on a branch not too far from the back of the house was a large barn owl. It flew down to rest on Harry’s shoulder when he held up the letter, and held out it’s leg for him to attach it too.

 

When Harry had done so it gave his ear an affectionate nip and took flight.

  
“ _ I really bloody hope that was the right owl.” _


	4. The One with Snivellus' Introduction and the Child Molester Ass Motherfucker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im absolutely and completely unhappy with this but who gives a shit its really long fuck off

The next morning Harry did not receive a return letter, but that was no surprise. He had just sent the letter the night before after all, and it had been rather late.

 

So, Harry did not get a return letter that next morning. Which made running right into a tall man on his doorstep all the more surprising.

 

“Hello, you must be Mr. Potter.” The man in black sneered.

 

“I must be. Who’re you?” Harry asked suspiciously.

 

“My name is Severus Snape. I’m a representative from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. You requested a guide.” 

 

“Do you have any proof? No offense, but stranger danger and stuff.” Harry shuffled his feet a bit at the man’s glare but held strong.

 

Snape gave a long suffering sigh and pulled a roll of parchment from his pocket, along with the letter Harry had written the night before. He handed the roll of parchment to Harry.

 

‘Dear Mr. Potter,

 

We are pleased to receive such a quick reply and have provided a guide, Potions Master and Professor, Severus Snape.

 

Looking forward to seeing you on September first,

Headmaster

Albus Dumbledore’

 

Harry looked up from the note. Snape was a tall man with a crooked nose and shoulder length - greasy - hair, his clothes were of high quality but were worn, as if they had seen a lot of use, and his pale yellowed skin was the only break from the dreary black. He reminded Harry very much of the boy in Mr. Moony’s stories - Snivellus Snape - and Harry couldn’t help but hope that they were not the same person, because that would mean many things that Harry did not want to be thinking about in the face of this intimidating man. But, with the way Harry’s luck had been running of late, they were most likely the same person and he would hate Harry for knowing about it, or something else of the idiotic like.

 

“Well then, hello Professor.” Harry handed back the note.

 

“I hope you do not need anything, I would prefer to leave as soon as possible.” Snape sneered down at him.

 

“Nope, I’m ready to go.” Harry said, trying to subtly goad Snape into walking away from the house at a faster pace.

 

The subtlety fell a bit flat but Snape picked up the pace regardless. 

 

“We will be taking muggle transportation so that you can make your way on your own next year.” Snape informed him as they walked down the street.

 

“Was that the plan the whole time, or did you just decide that?” Harry asked.

 

“Excuse me?” Snape whipped his head down to glare at Harry.

 

“Well you aren’t exactly dressed like a guy who planned to take the tube to London, sir. You look more like you’re heading off to some field somewhere to FLARP or something.” Harry shrugged at Snape’s glare, Harry had a few too many glares directed his way on the daily to be bothered by it at this point.

 

“What, exactly, is a Flarp and why would the way I dress suggest such a thing?” Under all that anger Harry could hear genuine curiosity, something that he found to be a rare quality to find in others.

 

“F L A R P, it’s an acronym. People dress up as knights and sorcerers and stuff and hit each other with like sticks and pretend to do magic. I don’t know much about it, I was reading about Basilisks on the library computer and-”

 

“Basilisks?”Snape interrupted.

 

“Yeah, it’s a mix between a chicken and a serpent and is supposedly hatched by a cockerel from the egg of a toad, but that’s not the point.” at this point they had reached the train station and had to take a break from their conversation to get tickets and board the train to London.

 

“Anyway, like I was saying, I was reading about Basilisks on the computer and I ended up falling into a wikipedian loop, and luckily the computer froze around twenty minutes in, but the screen froze on a page about FLARPing.” 

 

“What does FLARP stand for?” Snape cut in.

 

“Fu- Freaking live action role playing. It’s like live action role playing, or LARPing, but hardcore. So maybe they wouldn’t use wooden swords, they’d use really - alibiet sh-terrible ones, but they’d probably be made of real metal. I saw that sometimes the people pretending to do magic will use smoke bombs and fireworks to make it look like they’re really doing magic.” Harry didn’t even realise that he was talking a mile a minute at this point.

 

“Speaking of smoke bombs, they’re really easy to make, you know. Not that I’ve ever made any, of course,”

 

“Of course.” Snape sneered.

 

“All you really need is like a soup can, some sugar, some potassium nitrate, a fuse, and just like stuff for cooking the insides.” Harry continued, unperturbed.

 

“You do realise that homemade explosives are illegal right?” Snape looked at him with a very odd mixture of emotions on his face.

 

He looked impressed with the smoke bombs composition, angry that Harry was making smoke bombs and that he kept talking, curious about something, and sad about something else. Harry felt that that was entirely too many emotions to feel at once, honestly.

 

“Actually, smoke bombs aren’t considered explosives. As long as they aren’t loud and they don’t bother anyone or the environment their perfectly legal. If, for some reason, I really needed to make a smoke bomb I wouldn’t even need to have an adult buy me any of the supplies. Maybe the saltpeter would provide issues, but in a pinch you can just pop some broken up ping pong balls in a soup can and light the fuse. I’m thinking that if you planned to throw it you would need some kind of semi flammable binding material to hold all the pieces together and keep ‘em in the can..” Harry trailed off thinking of what he could use for such a thing.

 

Snape waited a few minutes to see if Harry would begin talking again, when Harry continued to stare at his lap and mutter unintelligibly Snape pulled out a potions book and started reading.

 

Once Harry had come to the conclusion that bees wax, or something similar, was the best solution he looked up to see Snape making marks in the margins of the book he was reading while scowling.

 

“What are you doing?” Harry asked.

 

“Going over the book I require you to buy for class.” He replied without pausing his marking or looking away from the book.

 

“Why?”

 

“Because most of it is wrong.” 

 

“Then why’re you making us buy it?”

 

“It’s the best you lot will be able to understand. I’ll probably just write the correct version on the board...” He appeared to be saying that last part to himself.

 

“May I see?” Harry asked hopefully.

 

Snape looked at him critically for a moment before he sighed and waved his hand over the book, closed it, and handed it to Harry.

 

Harry opened the book back up to the first page, he spent a few minutes reading the book and Snape’s additions in the margins before Snape cleared his throat.

 

“Wait a sec,” Harry angled his body and the book away as he quickly flipped back a few pages and then turned back to the page he had just been on, “You say to crush the beetle shells with you blade, the book says that certain metals bring out certain properties, and the potion needs a bronze blade, so are you saying to crush them with the blade... Is it because it would activate certain properties of the beetle better that the pewter, because the pewter is a neutral substance so it wouldn’t mess the potion up, but it wouldn’t help, right?” Harry turned and looked up to Snape, who looked flabbergasted.

 

“Or is it the act of crushing between two surfaces? The book says that there’s a difference but it doesn’t explain it. A difference between the mortar and pestle and the crushing it with the knife, I mean.” Harry continued, curios as a cat.

 

“I- it’s both actually.” Snape managed to force out passed his shock.

 

Harry returned to the book after a few seconds more of reading he reached blindly for the backpack at his feet and pulled out a spiral note book and a pen where he began to start writing down notes. 

 

Snape peered down at his notes and saw that he was mainly just copying down Snape’s own comments and where they had been located.

 

“ _ What _ are you  _ doing _ ?” 

 

“You said the book was wrong and from what I can see you’re right. I know I’ll probably remember all this stuff in the margins, but I’d rather not have to test that theory out when I’m making a highly volatile potion within five feet of another living breathing human being, thanks. Killing a kid in my first class sounds like it might be a bit of a bummer.” Harry was too busy trying to write quickly and legibly on a moving train to worry about being polite to a future teacher.

 

“I imagine that it might be, yes.” Snape mumbled, seeing to go into his own world.

 

It was quiet besides the scratch of Harry’s pen and the sound of the other people on the train for a long moment. The train began to slow and then stop. The other passengers rushed to be the first one’s off, and when the madness had died down Snape and Harry stood at the same time and made their way off the train. Had either of them been paying attention to the other they would have thought that their similarities were odd and disconcerting, as it was they only realised that they were still together when they both jolted from their thoughts and looked around faux calmly for the other. Only to realise that they had never separated.

 

Snape then took the lead and wordlessly made his way out of the station and into another, this time to catch a subway train closer to their destination.

 

After they had boarded the second train of the day Harry returned to his copying, while Snape kept an eye on the people surrounding them in the crowded subway car. 

 

After a few moments Snape felt Harry tug on his sleeve. He looked down to see Harry holding out his note book.

 

‘ _ We can’t talk about magic right?’ _ Snape nodded. Harry took back his notebook and gave his own nod before continuing with what he was doing. Though this time Snape took notice of the way Harry kept an eye on all of the other passenger, including himself, using his peripheral vision whilst he read.

 

At the next stop a man came and sat down next to Harry, sending him a tight smile. Harry immediately closed both books in his lap and handed Snape the potions text, he then scooted a few inches closer to Snape and sent the stranger a small smile.

 

“The stop after next is ours.” Snape told Harry quietly.

 

“Cool.” 

 

The strange man seemed to settle a bit after the train started moving away from the station. He relaxed and got comfortable, resulting in his knee brushing - barely - against Harry’s. The boy tensed and pressed himself as close as he could to Snape without actually touching him.

 

It was then that it came to Snape’s attention that Harry hadn’t touched him once, not that that was something he would have welcomed. Harry had grabbed his sleeve, once, but he had yet to actually touch him. He also noticed that he had not seen Harry so much as brush against someone, in the short amount of time he had payed attention to the boy he had seemed to sway just slightly away from every person they passed. To casually avoid touching anyone else so thoughtlessly - he had been reading a book for Merlin’s sake - spoke of a long period of time spent avoiding physical contact, months or years of it.

 

The train slowed to a stop once more, and just before the doors closed a heavily pregnant woman bustled onto the train slightly out of breathe. She looked around the crowded subway car and, when she found no open seats, grabbed tightly to the pole closest to her. The woman was obviously out of breathe and in pain, but no one got up to offer her their seat. A look of disappointment flitted quickly across Harry’s face.

 

“Excuse me miss,” Harry called out, “Would you like to sit down?” He stood and when the woman approached he moved so that he could help the woman sit down.

 

Snape was shocked to see the boy show such compassion for someone else. James Potter would have laughed at the women at this age. He was also shocked to see him so readily touch the woman to help her. Had he not spent almost a decade as a spy he would have doubted himself, thought he was just over thinking the boys actions. As it was Snape could see that Harry seemed to be more at ease now that he was standing - now that he could run.

 

“That’s one sweet kid you got there.” The woman smiled at him.

 

“He’s not mine.” He replied blandly.

 

“Thank you.” Harry said, smiling cheekily from in front of them.

 

Snape wasn’t exactly sure which of them he was thanking, but the gleam in his eyes hinted at his words being a dig at the future professor.

 

Snape wondered why it was that the child seemed to be completely at ease with his back to the half of the train, and then he saw that the entire car was reflected perfectly in the window across from them. He noticed Harry had his hand around something in his pocket. Snape couldn’t convince himself that it was something as simple as a touchstone to help him handle the crowded train, no, something told him whatever the boy had was a bit more on the dangerous side. Maybe it was all the talk of homemade bombs earlier. Maybe it was all the things he had seen the boy’s father hide in his pockets.

 

Their stop came and Snape was sure to keep a close eye on the boy’s hand. Trust James Potter’s son to find a way to get a weapon in the suburbs. Hopefully it was just a pair of scissors or something of the like.

 

Harry noticed Snape take an interest in his hands, but he couldn’t bring himself to take his hand away from where it was clutching Willow like a lifeline. 

 

They made their way from the station back above ground. They passed a burger joint, a bookshop, other completely normal stores, and then Snape latched onto his shoulder and dragged him into an alley next to a nasty looking pub.

 

“What do you have in your pocket.” Snape demanded.

 

“I don’t know how magic schools work, but I know that teachers in muggle schools are mandatory reporters, so if that’s how you lot do it then you might want to retract that question and be content in your plausible deniability.” Harry said.

 

“Give it here, now.” Snape said coldly, holding out his hand.

 

Harry paused for a second before shrugging and plopping Willow directly into his palm. Snape looked disgusted for a second before he recognised the snake, and the fact that it was alive, and all of the blood drained from his face and he held himself perfectly still.

 

“Mr. Potter, please tell me this is a joke.” Snape whispered.

 

“No way, this is Willow.  _ Willow, this is Professor Snape. Be nice, I think he might be about to cry.” _ Harry had a smile on his face the whole time.

 

At the sound of parseltongue Snape’s eyes widened dramatically, and if it hadn’t been for the snake - Willow - in his hand he might have flinched.

 

“Take her back right now.” Snape hissed.

 

“ _ Oh, that was almost parseltongue!”  _ Willow commented, rising up slightly and giving a hissy laugh.

 

“ _ Don’t scare him, come here.”  _ Harry held out his hand, but Willow wound herself around Snape’s hand quickly.

 

“ _ Only if you give me a snack. I’m hungry.” _

 

“She’s such a diva, I swear...” Harry dug around in his bag for a second and pulled out a small jar.

 

“ _ Grasshopper or a salamander?” _ Harry reached in and looked at the snake expectantly.

 

“ _ Salamander!”  _ Willow hissed excitedly.

 

Harry removed his hand from the jar and in his hand he held a live salamander. Before Snape could react the snake lunged and snatched up the small amphibian and had started to work on swallowing it. Harry reached over and grabbed the snake and deposited it on his shoulders.

 

“Sorry about that Professor, you did ask for it though.” Harry took a couple shuffling steps away from the tall man and seemed to hunch in on himself.

 

Snape raised his hand to run it through his hair - the hand that hadn’t held the snake - and as he did he saw Harry tense as if waiting for a blow.

 

“I hope you don’t plan on walking around with that thing on your shoulders while we get your things. We’ll have to deal with enough attention as is.” 

 

“What do you mean?” Harry tensed further.

 

“I mean you’re the precious Boy-Who-Lived, as I’m sure you know.” Snape sneered.

 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Harry asked, starting to anger.

 

“Oh, don’t play dumb. I know you’ve been living like a prince. Precious Prince Potter riding the wave of celebrity from mummy and daddy-”

 

“Ex-fucking-cuse me? ‘Precious Prince Potter’ my left arse cheek!” Harry snarled, recoiling as if he’d been burned.

 

“Oh, please. What, did your relatives take away your dessert for making smoke bombs?” Snape sneered down at Harry.

 

“Take away dessert? I have to work twenty hours a week to get enough money to buy myself enough food to survive! I’ve had to work for everything I have! My Aunt didn’t even buy me these glasses until the nurse threatened to call child services! My  _ relatives,”  _ He spit the word like a curse,”Have done absolutely nothing for me! Not one thing in their miserable lives! I would have been better off being left in the fucking  _ gutter _ than with those - those- those  _ freaks!”  _ Harry practically screamed the last word.

 

Snape opened his mouth to speak, but Harry beat him to it.

 

“I have to fail all my classes, but not enough that the teacher will want to talk to my relatives! No, that would be encroaching on their precious Dudderduddydunkin’s time! I have to pass, but never better than him. I have to let him copy my work, but I’m not allowed to do my work until I’ve done my chores! I can’t do my chores until I finish ‘detention’ - which is just my cute little way of  _ lying _ so I can work  _ illegally _ for some fucking  _ child molester ass motherfucker with a fucking fucked up face! _ Oh, and I can’t complain because every bite of food I take should have gone to that  _ whale _ they have  _ masquerading  _ as a  _ child! _ Everything that they give me I need to earn, because it should all be Dinkydollydudder’s! Not like they get money from the  _ fucking government _ , not like they get monthly stipends of  _ over three hundred pounds!  _ I work for everything, and it should all be mine anyway! I  _ should _ be Precious Prince  _ bloody Potter _ , but I’m not! I’m the weird-o bibliophile that’s too damn scrawny, and too quiet, and too skittish, and  _ why  _ don’t I play with the other kids, and  _ why _ would I pick on the only kids that were nice to me? ‘Oh Dudley, he would never hurt a fly, yeah that’s him now. Ain’t he cute? Lighting the wings of butterflies on fire sure is a  _ healthy _ and  _ wholesome  _ hobby to have isn’t it? What do you mean he was the one to beat up those poor boys? No that was definitely you Harry Weighs-Less-Than-30-Kilos-Soaking-Wet Potter!” Harry was pacing up and down the alley yelling and waving his hands around. He turned and pointed at a shell shocked Snape.

 

“I have no fucking clue what the bloody Boy-Who-Lived is and I don’t give a flying fuck, but you can rest assured that what- _ bloody- _ ever twisted you’re knickers like that, with your ‘riding a wave of celebrity’, is probably a crock of  _ lies!  _ Because the closest I’ve ever been to famous is being renowned around school for being the most bullied kid in  _ existence _ !” Harry finished, breathing heavily.

  
Snape had almost never been more grateful for a silencing charm in his life. Almost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im a peice of shit this is all your getting for now oh my god
> 
> lmao who got that it was moony tho
> 
> also, anyone wanna beta for me? hmu


End file.
